


Burn Your Kingdom Down

by kissoffools



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Demon Stiles Stilinski, Future Fic, Gen, Hints of Derek/Stiles, Hints of Scott/Isaac, Injury, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:05:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissoffools/pseuds/kissoffools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I thought if anyone could fix him, it would be you."</i> Scott has been away at college for all of one month when he gets a phone call from Derek - and it's about Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Your Kingdom Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [j7nx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/j7nx/gifts).



> Set roughly a year after Season 3A - or, once Scott is old enough to go off to college. Teen Wolf fiddles enough with its own timelines, so I did a little, too.
> 
> For anyone wary of the warnings or tags, you should know that I have a "when in doubt, tag" mentality. While this story absolutely contains darkness... what's darkness without light at the end of the tunnel, right?

“You need to come home.”

“Derek?” Scott says into his phone, raising his eyebrows in surprise. He knows that starting college doesn’t mean the end of the Derek Hale portion of his life, but he’d thought things were relatively quiet back home. Most of the pack had split off for school, there were no crazy monsters running around in the woods… so what was Derek’s deal? “Aw, what, did you miss me? I’ve only been gone for, like, a month. Are you going through withdrawals already?” Scott grins to himself, a little disappointed that he’s alone on the path leading to his dorm. Nobody’s ever around to hear his good ones.

“It’s Stiles.”

Scott stops walking.

“What do you mean, it’s Stiles? What’s Stiles?” he asks, trying to stay calm. A phone call from Derek, of all people, about Stiles? He tries to push back the dozens of terrifying scenarios that flood his brain, all of them featuring his best friend hurt and broken. Maybe Derek’s overreacting, he thinks. He’s gotten _way_ more protective lately, to everyone’s surprise, especially where Stiles is concerned. Scott had just talked to Stiles a few nights ago, and he’d been fine.

Hadn’t he?

“It’s bad,” Derek says, and Scott feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “And you need to get back here.”

“What is it?” 

“Something I can’t fix. Not without you.”

“You really need me?” Scott asks weakly, feeling like a heel. It’s against every one of his instincts not to drop everything, not to already be on his way home. But the Nemeton’s darkness had dragged him down – he’d felt it every day, wrapping around his heart and squeezing just a little tighter, making it harder and harder to breathe. He’d survived it for a year, held on for dear life until he could get the hell out of Beacon Hills. San Francisco State had given him his first full night’s sleep since the ice bath sacrifice. “Your entire family has the whole werewolf textbook down pat… the answer’s really not in there?”

“I can’t fix him, Scott. This is too big for me. It needs you.” There’s an edge to Derek’s tone now. Desperation. “ _Stiles_ needs you.”

Scott’s broken into a sprint before he even realizes it’s happening.

“Four hours,” he tells him. “I’ll be there.”

The whole way home, Scott tries not to wonder what Derek meant by the word “it”.

***

Derek’s waiting for him when he gets off the bus.

“Where is he?” Scott asks immediately, and Derek turns and climbs back into his SUV. He waits until Scott’s closed his door before he speaks.

“He’s at his place,” Derek says. “His dad’s on shift tonight, so you’ll be alone with him. Just… go talk to him. See what happens.”

Scott raises his eyebrows. “You are, like, the most cryptic person I’ve ever known.” The muscle in Derek’s jaw twitches, and although he doesn’t pull his eyes from the road, Scott knows he’s annoyed. 

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with him. One minute he was fine, and the next…” Derek sighs. “It scared me.”

Scott knows that when Derek gets worried, when Derek actually admits that he needs help, that he can’t solve everything on his own… that’s when things are serious.

“Hurry,” Scott says tightly. He grips the door handle as he tries not to let his mind run wild with possibilities, and his knuckles turn white.

***

“Stiles?”

Scott’s words are tentative as he steps into the Stilinskis' backyard. He can see Stiles sitting on the edge of his deck, perched on the steps like they used to when they were eight and used to try to count the stars. He’s hunched over, elbows on knees, with just enough moonlight up above to cast an eerie blue shadow over his still form. When Stiles doesn’t respond, Scott takes another few steps forward.

“Stiles?” he asks again, a little louder this time. “Dude? Derek called me. Are you okay?”

Stiles stands, back still to Scott. His hands are in his pockets and his neck is craned upwards, looking at the sky. Scott breathes a little sigh of relief. Okay, so he’s acting a little weird, but at least he’s moving. He’s alive – that counts for something.

“Dude, Derek’s really freaking me out,” Scott says, moving towards him. “I don’t know what his deal is, but he called me all panicked today about you. He won’t tell me what’s up. Do you know –“

And then Stiles turns around, and Scott feels his stomach drop out.

Stiles’ eyes stare at him, black and round and unblinking, glinting in the moonlight. There are no irises, nothing to tell him where Stiles’ gaze is focused, and it’s the most unsettling thing Scott’s ever seen. 

“You must be Scott,” Stiles says, and the corners of his lips turn up a little. The voice isn’t Stiles’ own – it’s too deep, too cold, and it sends a shiver up Scott’s spine. Stiles is a pretty good actor and can take a practical joke pretty far, but this is more than that. There’s a dull, dead look in his eyes that’s impossible to fake.

This isn’t Stiles.

“I’d shake your hand,” Stiles – no, not Stiles – continues conversationally, pacing a little on the deck, “but I hear mine can get pretty clammy.”

“What are you?” Scott asks. “ _Who_ are you?” 

“Not really up on your mythological creatures, huh? That’s too bad. What have you been doing off at school, anyway?” The thing inside Stiles grins, a sick and ugly grimace. “Oh, wait, that’s right. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s been keeping you busy. Don’t think they all didn’t notice that the Lahey kid just _happened_ to follow you to San Francisco State. I know lovesick teenagers when I see ‘em.”

Scott can feel himself flushing red. “You don’t know anything.”

The laugh that leaves Stiles’ lips is loud and humourless. “I don’t? Really? You think I’m just shacking up inside this body all cozy for kicks? Come on, Scott. I know you’re no Albert Einstein, but you’re not that stupid.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Scott says firmly, crossing his arms. He can feel his eyes flash gold. “Or about him.”

“I know him better than you ever have.”

“Fuck you.” Scott’s voice shakes with anger.

“Did you know he comes into the woods every night?” the _thing_ asks, raising his eyebrows. There’s a glint of pleasure there, because he already knows the answer. He knows that Scott’s been away, that Scott has no idea what Stiles does anymore. “He comes and sits out at the Nemeton, digging out little pieces of the wood because he’s no good at staying still. He sits there and berates himself, _hates_ himself for being the one left behind. The deeper he digs into the wood… the deeper he digs at himself… well. It was only a matter of time before he let me join him in here.”

It’s as if every part of Scott is aching. “He didn’t let you – he couldn’t. He wouldn’t do that.”

“It’s cute how you think you have all the answers,” it says patronizingly. “Kind of annoying, but cute. The ache inside him was getting to him. I know you didn’t ever talk about it, about that day. About what you opened yourselves up to. But, you know, you probably should’ve. You were able to close yourself off and get out. Stiles couldn’t.”

“Why would he do that?” Scott asks. He wants to challenge this thing, whatever it is, to tell him every word he’s putting in Stiles’ mouth is bullshit, but… but he doesn’t know. They never talked about this, about the way they were feeling. About the way _Stiles_ was feeling.

And now, Scott has no idea.

Stiles’ tongue clicks. “Come on, Scott, try to use your brain just a little. When you’re that scared, you’ll take help from even the most dangerous places. Although I like to think I can be pretty charming when I want to be.” He shrugs modestly. “He’s not strong, not like you, Scott. Not like Allison.”

“He is strong,” Scott insists. Scott doesn’t know why he’s entertaining this stupid dialogue with whatever the hell is possessing his best friend, but it’s as if he can’t stop. Every word he says cuts Scott up on the inside… but every one of them rings too true to push away.

“He’s human,” the thing says. The smile that twists on his face is so inhumane, so sickening, and it guts Scott to see it shining through Stiles’ features. “No matter how brave he is, he’s never going to be like you. He’s average. _Weak._ ”

“Don’t say that about my friend.” Scott can feel the growl starting in the back of his throat.

It bares its teeth, the smile shifting from mocking to menacing. “Oh, I think you lost the right to call him that when you walked away. When you abandoned him in this shitty, soul-sucking black town.” One long finger taps on Stiles’ chest. “Or, at least, that’s what I’m feeling in here.”

“I didn’t abandon him!” Scott cries. “He wanted to stay home an extra year, he didn’t think his dad would be able to handle him leaving!”

“But you thought he could handle it when you did it?”

“Stop,” Scott says. It comes out as more of a plea than a command, and the _thing_ inside Stiles laughs.

“What, you think I’m inside him, but I can’t feel him? He’s there, Scott. I’m wrapped up all around him, buried beneath his skin. And in every inch of him, I can feel how much he’s started to hate you.”

And that’s when Scott strikes. His claws come out and he lunges forward, slashing at the thing as quick as he can.

It dances backwards out of his reach, and Stiles’ face laughs at him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” it warns, shaking his head teasingly. He steps back further, into the shadows, and all Scott can see are those deep, gleaming eyes. “You get all scratchy with me, and it’s his body you hurt.” Scott hears a chuckle. “And I think you’ve already done enough damage.”

And the next thing Scott knows, he blinks and Stiles is gone.

***

“What the fuck was that?” Scott asks, slamming the door of Derek’s SUV. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says tightly. “I’ve seen him every day for the past week, and today he was just… like _this_.”

“It’s not him,” Scott says. “I don’t know what’s going on, or who’s inside him, but it isn’t… that’s not Stiles.”

“I know,” Derek says, and he presses his lips together.

“I couldn’t make it go away,” Scott says, leaning his head back against the headrest and letting out a sigh. “I kind of thought I’d talk to it, and then it’d be my best friend looking out at me again. But it didn’t work. And now it’s gone.”

“Gone?” Derek sits up straight, eyes boring into Scott’s side. “What do you mean, gone?”

“It vanished, I don’t know,” Scott says. “One second he was there, and then I blinked and he was gone.”

“That’s not good,” Derek says, and he turns the key in the ignition. “We need to talk to Deaton.”

They drive in silence for several minutes, the weight of Stiles’ possession hanging over them. And then, finally – 

“Why’d you call me?” Scott asks. “Why’d you think I could fix it?”

Derek doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Because I thought if anyone could fix him, it would be you.”

Scott thinks about being away at school, about text messages he’s forgotten to reply to, about being too busy for Thursday night Skype sessions. About the loneliness he’d pretended not to hear in Stiles’ tone every time they talked on the phone. About those dark eyes, hollow and chilling, staring into his as he said _I can feel how much he’s started to hate you._

“Maybe not anymore,” Scott says quietly, and the guilt gnaws harder at his insides.

***

“It’s a demon.”

Scott blinks at Deaton. “An actual demon? Like, a black-souled, evil bastard from hell?”

“There haven’t been reports of demons for half a century,” Derek says, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter in Deaton’s lab. “I remember my parents talking about them, once. Nobody’s seen any for years.”

“And there’s never been a multiple self-sacrifice at the Nemeton, either,” Deaton says, and Scott feels his heart twist.

“This is… this is because of that?” he asks. “Because of what we did last year, for our parents?”

Deaton sighs. “I warned you all about the darkness, how it would act like a magnet for the supernatural and the evil in the world. I don’t know how a demon got up out of hell, but that’s what you’re dealing with. That’s what’s inside Stiles.”

Derek swears softly under his breath, and Scott scrubs a hand over his face. “Why Stiles?” he asks. “Why not me, or Allison?”

“You and Allison left Beacon Hills,” Deaton says. “When the demon found its way into town, Stiles was the only one with enough black space to give it room to slither inside.”

Scott feels a shiver run down his spine. “What does it want?”

Deaton shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“What do we do about it?” Derek asks. His jaw twitches, and Scott can tell he’s frustrated. Itching to act.

Deaton crosses the room and pulls a heavy, battered book from one of his drawers. “The only way to get rid of a demon without hurting the body it’s adopted,” Deaton says, “is to exorcize it.” He holds the book out towards them.

“Better brush up on your Latin.”

***

Scott and Derek have been poring over Deaton’s book for three hours when they hear the sirens.

“What…” Scott starts, looking up at the flashing lights speeding past Derek’s loft.

“That can’t be good,” Derek murmurs, snapping the book closed.

“Come on,” Scott says, standing and grabbing his jacket. “Let’s go.”

He’s fine as they follow the sirens, forces himself not to jump to conclusions and worry – that is, until they reach the clinic. Lights are flashing as EMTs and police officers move about the crime scene, and Scott has to fight to swallow down a wave of nausea.

“We were just here,” he says weakly to Derek, staring at the scene before them. 

As Deaton is loaded into the ambulance, Scott can see gashes across his chest. He has to bite back the wolf inside him, the one that wants to turn and hunt and take down anything that would touch his friend. But Deaton’s moving weakly, and that helps him breathe a little.

“Do you think –“ he tries, his voice catching. 

Derek closes his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly before opening them again. “Has to be.”

Scott spots Sheriff Stilinski across the crowd, talking with one of the EMTs, and he darts over to him, leaving Derek behind. There’s a bit of surprise in the Sheriff’s eyes when Scott practically careens into him, but his face is stern.

“Aren’t you supposed to be off at school, Scott? I thought this lurking around crime scenes habit ended when you graduated,” he says, crossing his arms. But his voice isn’t unkind, and Scott suddenly pictures the Sheriff dragging Stiles into an interrogation room, pain crossing his face as the black-eyed demon taunts and teases him from inside his son. Stiles didn’t do this – he wasn’t the one who’d hurt Deaton, not really. And Scott won’t let the Sheriff even suspect him.

“Is he going to be okay?” Scott asks, nodding towards closed ambulance doors.

The Sheriff sighs. “If I had a nickel for every time you asked me that one. Deaton’s got a few nasty slices, but whatever got him didn’t hit any of his vitals. He’s going to need a ton of stitches, but he’s going to be fine.” 

“Thank god,” Scott says, slumping a little in relief. The Sheriff eyes him.

“Do you know what’s going on here, Scott?” he asks, lowering his voice. “Because if there’s anything I’ve learned when something looks fishy around this town… it’s because it usually is.”

“It’s going to be okay, Sheriff,” Scott tells him, his resolve steeling. The black-eyed fucker has his best friend hostage and went after his boss – and Scott isn’t going to let it lay a finger on anyone else in his life. Not a chance. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

***

Scott and Derek are back in the car, only minutes away from Deaton’s office, when Scott feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he gapes at the words _Stiles Stilinski_ on the caller display for a moment, and then accepts the call.

“Scott?”

Scott’s immediately on high alert, feeling the hairs at the back of his neck prickle. “Stiles?” Next to him, Derek’s gaze darts between him and the road.

“Scott, I’m… I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Stiles’ voice is weak, trembling, and completely unlike the one Scott had heard earlier that night. Scott lifts his eyes to meet Derek’s questioning ones and silently puts his phone on speaker. 

“Stiles, I’m here,” Scott says, eyes still on Derek. “I’m in Beacon Hills. What’s going on?” 

“I’m at home and it feels like I just… like I just woke up or something, I don’t know,” Stiles says, and there’s a faint, choked sound, almost like a sob. “But I’m sitting on my bed and my shirt’s covered in blood.”

Scott sees flashes of red, a plea for mercy, a body falling heavy to the floor.

“Is it your blood?” Scott asks, but he knows. He saw the aftermath.

“I don’t think so.” Stiles’ voice shakes. “But I don’t know whose it is, and I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t… Scott, I need help.”

Derek nods. “Meet me at Derek’s loft,” Scott says, and his heart aches for his friend. For the boy who’s been trapped and scared and out of control. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Okay.”

The line goes dead and Scott slides his phone back into his pocket, scrubbing a frustrated hand over his face. “You think he’s for real?” he asks Derek. “You think it… the demon… you think it’s gone?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says. A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I hope so.”

Scott sighs and leans back in his seat. “Guess we’ll find out.”

***

When Stiles arrives at the loft, Scott and Derek are waiting for him in front of the wall of windows.

“Scott, I don’t know what the hell’s going on,” Stiles says, and he’s practically shaking from head to toe as he moves towards them. His cheeks are pink, and a large, deep red smear stains the front of his white shirt. 

Scott meets his eyes, terrified… and sees his friend staring back at him. He feels himself start to breathe again, start to relax. He reaches for him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“We’ll figure it out,” he tells him, trying to sound as comforting as he can. “I promise. We have Derek, and Deaton, and Allison can probably get ahold of the bestiary…”

“Bestiary?” Stiles says, pulling back and looking panicked. “You think – oh, god, I haven’t been turning into a weretiger or something, have I?”

Scott chuckles. “Not that we know of.”

“How do you feel now?” Derek asks, stepping towards him. “What do you remember?”

Stiles shakes his head, looking down at his feet. “Not much,” he says. There’s a helpless tone creeping at the edges of his voice. “I remember going out for dinner with my dad after his shift, and running into you downtown… and then I think I went home and went to bed.” He shrugs, looking back up at them again. “And then I was sitting on my bed covered in this.” He gestures towards his bloody shirt. 

“You saw me downtown four days ago,” Derek tells him, and Stiles gapes.

“Four _days_ ago? Then what…” 

“We think you were possessed,” Scott says, and fear floods Stiles’ face immediately.

“By a demon,” Derek adds, and he lays a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “But it looks like it… I don’t know, it got what it wanted, maybe. And now it’s gone.”

And that’s when Stiles grabs Derek’s wrist and twists it behind his back, pinning him against his chest with a knife to his throat.

Stiles blinks slowly at Scott, a mocking smile on his face, and the deep black eyes are back.

“Guess again,” he says coldly.

Scott’s claws and fangs are out at once, a growl ripping through his throat, and the knife presses more firmly against Derek’s jugular. 

“Come on, Scott, don’t be foolish,” the demon says with a chuckle. “Didn’t we already go over how smart you are? I’m strong enough to pin this big ol’ guy – you think I’m not fast enough to slice him up before you can touch me?”

“Let go of him,” Scott orders in a low, warning tone.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” The demon shrugs. 

Derek struggles a little against his grip, his claws extending to scrape along Stiles’ skin, but Scott calls, “Don’t!”, and the demon laughs again.

“You really don’t see where this is going, do you, Scotty? There’s no getting out of this safe and sound, _dude_. Either this one goes,” he says, a finger slicing delicately across Derek’s neck, “or you kill your best buddy. Either way, that’s one down, two to go.” The demon grins, a twisted and demented picture. “It’s your choice.”

“I’m not letting you hurt him,” Scott says firmly. “Either of them.”

“Scott, don’t do anything stupid!” Derek says. The demon pats him on the chest.

“See?” he says gleefully. “The Big Bad Wolf here has some sense. No wonder this guy in here likes you, Derek.” There’s a low rumble in his throat, a pleased sort of sound. “Oh, you should _see_ where his mind goes when you’re around. But it’s not surprising that a smaller guy like him would have a thing for nice, big muscles.”

Derek growls, low and threatening, and the demon chuckles and presses his lips to the pulse point on the side of Derek’s neck, inhaling slowly.

“He’s warm, Scotty,” the demon breathes, black eyes glittering as they flick up to meet Scott’s once more. “But I bet his blood is warmer.” The knife presses down again, a thin red line appearing along the edge of the blade.

Scott slams into them both with a roar. 

There’s a struggle, Scott wrestling with the demon in Stiles’ body with every ounce of power in his muscles as he tries to keep out of the knife’s slashing path. He rolls and dips to avoid it, yowling when it catches on his thigh and slamming his shoulder into Stiles’ gut in return. He hears Derek cry out and what sounds like slashing claws before he finally rolls away, drops of blood dotted across his shirt. The demon stumbles backwards, breathing heavily.

“Did I tire you out?” he taunts.

Derek holds out a hand to help Scott up, panting but unharmed. Scott meets Derek’s eyes, and they both turn slowly to face the demon. 

“I don’t think anyone’s dying today,” Derek says firmly. 

Around the demon’s feet, in a perfect circle, is a ring of mountain ash.

Scott stands tall. “Guess you shouldn’t have let us pick the meeting spot.”

The demon gapes at them, pushing in vain against invisible walls. He lets out a frustrated wail.

Derek picks up the ratty book from the table nearby. It falls open in his hands to the marked page, and he begins to read.

“Exorcizamus te,” he says in a strong voice. “Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…”

“I don’t think _you_ see where this is going,” Scott says coldly, his eyes glancing upwards at the crudely-drawn key of Solomon on the ceiling of the loft. “Because you’re going to leave my brother alone.” 

The room begins to shake as Derek continues to read, lights flickering, and the demon inside Stiles laughs. Scott and Derek pause, exchanging glances. Deaton never mentioned this.

“Come on, Scott!” the demon calls, tauntingly, over the shake of the room. “You think I’m a brand new baby demon? You think I haven’t dealt with an exorcism or two before?”

An unseen force slams Scott to the floor, and he howls. 

“Fight it, Stiles!” he cries, claws and teeth out now, and the lights flicker a little harder. “I know you’re in there! Don’t let him win!”

“You left me behind!” Stiles screams, and Scott feels his stomach twist. He sounds different, this time. Those aren’t the demon’s words. “You picked up and you left, and you didn’t look back!”

“I didn’t –“ Scott’s voice catches in his throat. “You wanted to stay!”

“You didn’t ask me to come with you!” Stiles’ face is red, and Scott can hear Derek start up the incantation again. “You took Isaac, and you left me here to push out this motherfucking darkness alone! I can’t do it alone, Scott!”

Scott struggles to his feet, eyes on Stiles. His heart aches, feels heavier than it ever did when it was being surrounded and strangled by darkness. “You’re not alone!” he says. “I promise, Stiles, you’re not alone. I’m going to be here. I’m always going to be here!” He felt a sob rise in his chest. “You’re my brother, Stiles. I know you’re in there. Don’t let him get you!”

A wailing noise rises from Stiles’ throat. He begins to shake, eyes glossy and unfocused, and Scott starts to panic. What if Deaton had been wrong? What if they were only hurting him more?

But Derek just grips the book tighter, shouting to be heard over the rattle of the room and the demon’s cries. “Servire libertáte, te rogámus, audi nos!”

“Fight it, Stiles!” Scott yells. “Fight it! Come back!”

The lights suddenly flash a brilliant white, and the demon screams again. With one final shudder, Scott watches the demon pour from Stiles’ mouth, dissipating in the air as the room trembles and groans. Stiles collapses the moment the demon’s gone, and Scott gets to him just before his head cracks back on the concrete floor.

Derek drops to the floor next to them, gasping for breath. The room is silent. Scott holds onto Stiles tightly, knuckles white. When Stiles finally opens his eyes and stares up at Scott in confusion, Scott is shaking.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in San Francisco?” Stiles asks. A relieved grin spreads across Scott’s face as Stiles speaks, and he breathes out a laugh. 

“You’d think so,” he says, helping Stiles sit up, “but I heard my best friend needed me.”

Stiles looks from Scott to Derek and back again, taking in their shaken expressions and torn-up clothing. Then his eyes fall on the blood staining his shirt, on the knife laying forgotten a few feet away, and he gapes at them both. “What the hell happened?”

Scott rests his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder. “It’s a long story, buddy. I’m just glad to see you’re okay.”

Scott knows that he and Derek have a lot of explaining to do, and that he and Stiles need to do some talking. The demon may be gone, but the darkness that welcomed it in is still there. But when Scott raises his gaze again, the smile that crosses Stiles’ face warms Scott from the inside out. “I’m just glad to see you, period,” Stiles says.

Scott thinks of the demon in the backyard, of the way he yelled, of the way each accusation seared his heart and slashed at his core. He thinks of the darkness he’s felt for the past year, the pain that’s burrowed further and further inside of him every day… and it’s fading, he realizes. Sitting here with Stiles, hurt and exhausted from saving the person that matters most – from saving his _brother_ \- somehow, it’s all going to be okay again. He can feel it.

Somehow, Stiles makes it all okay. Stiles makes that darkness, that ache, go away. And Scott’s going to do the same for him, this time. He’s going to make sure of it.

“Me too, dude,” Scott says, leaning against his side. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

 

_end._

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Fall Harvest, j7nx! I really hope you enjoy this - as soon as I saw your demon!Stiles prompt, I couldn't help myself, and had a really good time writing this for you. I hope it's something like what you had in mind. :)
> 
> Thank you to K for the thorough, fantastic beta!


End file.
